Moon Burning (10 page)

“My senses say one thing, but my instincts another.” And how was that possible, he wondered.

“You trust your instincts over your wolf’s senses?”

“In this instance? I do.” For, while his wolf could not smell the lie, it paced restlessly inside him, sure not all was as it seemed. Those same instincts told him to claim her, too. And he would not deny them.

He approached the bed, his mind settled about one thing at least. He would have her this night.

B
arr came toward the bed like a cat on the prowl, not the wolf that he was, sending a shiver of anticipation touched by nerves through Sabrine’s raven nature. His storm-cloud eyes watched her with the power of the ancient priests that once served their combined peoples. Before the Faol decided the Éan did not deserve to be Chrechte.

The oral histories spoke of those times; they spoke of priests and healers and leaders, but they did not tell the tale of a wolf who could capture a raven with nothing but his gaze.

Nothing to prepare her for meeting Barr of the Donegal clan. No story that might help her know what to do with feelings so powerful they decimated the stronghold of her control and forged desires that would not be denied. No matter that she was absolutely certain that to mate with a wolf would be terrifyingly dangerous.

Her mind screamed warnings as her body prepared itself for the inevitable joining with his wolf. Her mind insisted she not submit, but her body had gone deaf.

For the first time in her life, Sabrine’s mind was not in charge, her vaunted control buried under the burning coals of her desire. Her raven instincts demanded resolution for the need clenching her womb and drawing moisture from her core. Nipples that had never known the pleasure of a lover’s touch beaded into tight buds of near-painful longing.

Muscles that usually tensed in preparation for battle relaxed, allowing her legs to fall open slightly beneath the blanket.

Barr’s nostrils flared as the scent of her arousal permeated the air around them. He pulled the blanket back when he reached the bed. And she let him, making no move to hide her waiting nakedness from his gaze. Her body’s yearning overshadowed any hope she had to pull away from this joining.

He inhaled deeply, his eyes going heavy-lidded. “You want me.”

“Yes.” There was no point denying it to him or herself.

Not when the spicy scent of her need was all around them.

“I’ll have you this night.” The statement was arrogance itself, but something in his tone alerted her to the fact it was meant as a question.

He was seeking her agreement, showing he had more self-control than she. He would stop if she demanded it. She did not think
she
could.

But she was no meek maiden to suffer his domination. “We will have each other.”

He smiled, the expression feral. “You would have had me believe you a fragile woman, in need of protection.”

“I am.” Not fragile, perhaps, but definitely in need of protection. So were her people, but no Faol, not even this one who showed such concern for a human female’s safety, would offer such.

“Perhaps, but you are Chrechte and strong, though you deny it.”

She’d never denied being Chrechte, not once. Though she’d denied being wolf. She could not make her lips utter a falsehood of such personal affront.

Explaining such would give away secrets she could not allow into the light.

He did not wait for a reply, nor did he seem to expect one. He simply rid himself of his plaid and weapons with short, efficient movements, revealing his magnificent warrior’s body. He might not share his twin’s facial scar, but Barr was by no means unmarked. Along with his Chrechte markings on his bicep and back, he had several small scars obviously obtained in battle. Each one made him that much more alluring to her. A man who fought and received wounds in the effort to protect those he called clan was a man she could admire on every level.

Even if he was a wolf.

Regardless of the sexual need coming off him, he took the time to put his daggers where they could easily be reached if he had a need.

Her own trained warrior instincts could not help noting what it would require for her to reach them, too.

He laughed as he put one knee on the bed, the sound low and seductive, sending quakes of longing through her.

“What amuses you?” She’d never been further from joviality.

“You calculated the distance to my daggers as I put them away.” The knowing smile on his face was reflected in his voice.

“And you find that worthy of laughter?”

“I find your attempt to play the maiden in distress more than worthy.”

His assurance of her deception did not seem to have made him angry.

“I am what I am.” He could take that how he liked. She was beyond dissembling.

“And I am eager to discover exactly what that means.”

It wouldn’t happen, but telling him so would probably make the daft laird laugh again. “I do not want to desire you.” That was one piece of honesty she could share.

“Why?”

“You are a dangerous man for me to mate.”

“So you feel it, too?”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“I wonder what your voice will sound like in my mind,” he said as he lowered his head to capture her lips for her first kiss.

And it was only as the words repeated in her conscious mind that she realized they’d been talking about two very different aspects of mating. She’d meant sexual intimacy.

He thought they were
true mates
.

God would not be so cruel.

No matter how appealing his person, or how intriguing his character, she could not be true mates with a wolf. Heaven would not play such a vicious trick on her.

Her disturbed thoughts splintered as his lips moved with possessiveness against hers. The taste was incredible, like spices and fresh water from the spring. Intoxicated by his nearness, she was glad to be lying down. Were she standing, she did not think she would remain upright.

She’d never known such sensations.

In her whole life, she had never considered her mouth such a bastion of sexual temptation, but the feel of his lips against hers went clear to the depths of her soul and back again.

His tongue flicked along the seam of her lips in a silent demand her body instinctively knew how to respond to. She let her lips part, giving him access to the inner recess beyond. His tongue took instant advantage, intensifying the amazing flavor scoring her senses.

He ravaged her with a warrior’s power and she returned the kiss with her own feminine need to meet him strength to strength, desire to desire, softness to hardness. Neither superior to the other, and yet no question that his body was bigger, his muscles more powerful. He should frighten her, but he did not. She found his size and strength unbearably exciting, especially so close to her unencumbered nudity.

He was all she could have ever wanted in a mate and yet was the one man she could not invite into her true life. Nevertheless, she would enjoy this moment of pleasure while she had it. She had known little enough joy in her life; she would not reject this moment her raven insisted was hers. She would never know such pleasure again, of that she was irrevocably convinced—she hadn’t thought to know it now. But while she dwelt among his people she would indulge in the carnally feminine side of her raven and human natures both.

He reared back, his huge body shimmering in the torchlight. “You taste like the food of the gods.”

She smiled at his exaggeration. “I taste like a woman.”

“
My
woman.”

“For tonight.”

“Forever.”

She could not make her mouth utter a denial, but nor would she allow it to speak agreement.

He flexed his big muscles, making them bulge in ways that had her raven trilling with desire. He was not Éan, but he understood the need to display his strength and prowess for her, to draw her raven closer to the surface than Sabrine had allowed it since making the change in the air as she fell to the earth. She reached up and nuzzled into his neck with her nose in instinctive response, her raven seeking connection to his wolf.

A look of satisfaction came over his features as he inhaled deeply. “I can smell you now. Not your wolf, but your otherness is there for me. Only for me.”

“Only for you.” She could not risk allowing it to be exposed amongst the rest of his clan.

There was a reason Verica kept her raven nature subdued, and her brother did as well. Sabrine could guess what it was, too.

The rest of the Faol did not have Barr’s tolerance for
other
.

She reached up and caressed his face, the stubble of his blond day’s growth scratching against her palm. “You are a special man, Barr, unlike others of your kind.”

“I am glad you think so.” His voice resounded with confidence.

Shaking her head, she grinned. “You are also too arrogant for your own good.”

“So you say.”

“I do.”

“Maybe I should prevent more accusations from coming out of that lovely mouth.” His gray gaze caressed her lips, making them tingle and part as if the look was a kiss in itself.

“Perhaps you should.” If it meant more of that most pleasurable kissing, she was all for it.

He bent down and once again claimed her lips with passion she had no difficulty matching. In fact, it was so easy, it frightened her.

What would she do when she had to leave this man behind? For leave she must. Her life and the future of her people depended on it.

Calloused fingers brushed up her side until one giant hand cupped the small curve of her breast. He teased her nipple with his thumb until she thought she would come off the bed. Each swipe of his thumb against the tender bud sent a matching spear of pleasure through her womb, making the flesh between her legs contract as well.

Heated sexual approval radiated between them. “You are so responsive.”

“You have many to compare me to?” she asked, making no effort to hide the irritation such a thought caused her.

His light brown brows rose as his lips twitched. “Not so many.”

“How many?” she demanded, her hands clenching against the stonelike contours of his chest.

No man should be this strong. Nor this irresistible.

“One, maybe two.”

“Which is it? One or two?” she demanded, her agitation growing.

“My laird discouraged sex for anything but a committed mating.”

She recognized the distraction for what it was, but she could not help observing, “Doesn’t that prevent some of the Faol from controlling their change?”

“Until they have had sex? Yes.” Subtle tension drained from the set of his shoulders.

“That does not sound strategically sound.”

“He believes some things are more important than strategy.”

“Like love?”

Barr laughed, the warmth of it going through her in a wholly different kind of pleasure. “Maybe now he’s found love with his wife, but not before. No, he considered the possibility of creating a sacred bond in a casual or badly conceived pairing something to be avoided at all costs.”

There was something more there, she could hear it in her beautiful warrior’s voice. “Why?”

“His father true mated an Englishwoman who betrayed our clan, causing our laird’s death and that of many of our best warriors.”

The woman who had caused his brother’s scarring had been their laird’s sacred mate. The pain that had caused the pack was in every line of his rugged features. “She was human?”

“Aye.”

“It is too easy to underestimate their strength.”

“That is what the Balmoral’s wife says.”

The Balmoral lived on an island and the Éan knew little about them. “Does she?”

“Aye, being human herself and having brought the Balmoral to his knees, I think she might well be right.”

“It is the Faol my people watch most closely,” she admitted.

He gave her a strange look but did not demand she explain further and for that she was grateful. She could not do so without betraying the Éan and she would die before doing that.

“So, one or two?” she asked again, when it became clear he thought he had sidestepped her last question so neatly.

He sighed, his big body pressing against hers. “Two.”

“That does not make me happy,” she said, not really understanding her own reaction but uninterested in pretense.

“I can tell that it does not.” His eyes devoured her with their concern. “Neither woman was a lover.”

“What does that mean?” He’d had sex with them. He’d just said so.

“One was a widow grieving the loss of her husband.”

“So, you were just comforting her?” Sabrine asked, the sarcasm dripping like vinegar from her voice.

He looked relieved. “Yes, that was it exactly.”